Entangled
by Ugly Narcissist
Summary: The god of Mischief decides to meddle with a very ancient magic; a magic that has no way of being reversed. How does the S.H.I.E.L.D. spy fit into all of this madness? Can either one survive? Loki/Natasha. In-progress. Rated M for later chapters.
1. Prologue

Entangled

Chapter 1: Prologue

Ten heavily-armed guards marched down the hallway in a uniform gait, five on either side of a man clad in deep emerald cloth. Silver shackles clung to his wrists as he walked in time with his captors.

The grand precession was only fitting for a prince of Asgard. To S.H.I.E.L.D., he was under their control. They couldn't be more wrong. In an instant, he could have conjured an inferno that would have instantly killed everyone in that hallway. But he couldn't afford to drop the ruse; for now, his capture merely served to distract the only eye in Fury's head from the plan.

The group rounded the corner as his viridian eyes were instinctively drawn to the glass on his right. Behind the gleaming surface, he could plainly make out several figures standing idly in the next room.

There stood several familiar and unfamiliar faces, all of them returning his glances.

He could make out one of figures as Banner, although he wasn't in that horrid form he heard so much about. Inside that disheveled scientist was a formidable monster of unbridled rage; one Loki contemplated enslaving once or twice. He could offer the beast an opportunity to destroy to it heart's content in his conquest of the mortals, but what would he do with the creature afterward? No, he would have to destroy the monster as soon as he could. It would be a shame to waste such a beast, but from what he saw of the Chitauri forces, he was not lacking in brute force.

Next was Tony Stark. Yes, how could he forget? Germany, the plane, even the impulsive fight against his hated brother. There was someone brimming with personal demons. His lip twitched at the parallels between the two. Beyond control, even from his closest friends. Or better judgment. But underneath the metallic luster, Loki could see what he really was: a mere child, bottle in hand, acting out against his father. No, that wouldn't do at all.

He doubted that the person he needed was aboard the vessel when his eyes met another of a similar hue. A mortal woman with a flattened expression, glaring in his direction. She wasn't looking at him with mild curiosity like the others. Her head turned to follow him, as if she was looking for something. Her jade eyes were locked in on his, which made the Trickster smirk. He couldn't help but turn his head, intent on not breaking away.

But how could he turn away? That Siberian stare of hers was particularly cold, but it was what he saw underneath the ice that garnered so much of his attention. Regret. Anger. Sorrow. Death. Torture. Misery. Deceit. Chaos. Utter chaos.

In those eyes…so much red.

As his entourage advanced beyond the glass wall's edge, he forced himself to break eye contact. No longer entranced, his head began to churn with a sinister notion. _This might work_.

* * *

**Author's Note**: Hello, all. I've finally grown a pair and decided to publish something. I have the whole story planned out, but I'm still working out the details. If you have any suggestions or comments, I'm always up for constructive criticism. Thanks! ~Madcap


	2. Detached

Entangled

Chapter 2: Detached

Once the door closed behind her, the Black Widow finally dropped the stoic front she played for the madman in the other room. The plan was simple: information through disinformation. To play a nonthreatening woman who offers her hand in friendship. To cower under his intense outbursts. To lower his guard. To have him admit what his real plan was. Although she was able to compose herself almost instantaneously when she discovered his true intentions aboard the Helicarrier, nothing could stop her heart from pounding away behind her ribs.

It was stupid to believe that he was here against his will.

At first she figured him to be a jealous child who wanted nothing more than to ruin the world for everyone else. Thor pleaded to the others to help bring him back to their home in the cosmos, his words heavy with an idea that his brother wasn't beyond all hope. That things could go back to the way they were before. No, Loki was something more deceitful than that. A scared, misunderstood child doesn't dream of genocide.

Natasha backed against the closed door as she ruminated on the conversation. It was rash of her to believe that he was no longer dangerous because he was in a cell. _A spider underneath a glass doesn't mean its venom won't kill you_. The simple proverb from her days in Russia still held some merit, even if the men who preached it weren't as honest. She wasn't quite sure how he knew so much about her, but her feigned fear wasn't as artificial as she had hoped.

She closed her jade eyes and exhaled from a place very deep within herself, so deep that she couldn't help but tremble slightly. No, it wasn't the time to think about these things, but her eyes stung in a way that she could hardly remember. They were just words, maybe just shots in the dark, but they chipped something that weighed down her heart. With a shake of the head, the building pressure was halted, frozen like the tears in her eyes.

He may have been the god of lies, but there was something so honest in those emerald eyes of his when he promised to destroy her in the most personal means of torture imaginable. She had to keep her distance; his silver tongue burned like acid, but his bite could do much worse. No, she had to remain strong. Resolute. She had to warn the others, but…

She encountered her fair share of madmen in her day, men who would murder millions if it meant that they were one step closer to world domination. But they all had something they followed: a Mein Kampf, a political philosophy adopted at childhood that wasn't questioned, or some misguided dream of unprecedented wealth. But Loki didn't follow a book or a teaching or money. He followed himself. He hoped to bring salvation through tyranny, to destroy the world to bring it some semblance of peace. Peace among the dead under his feet, and he couldn't care less.

He wasn't attached to anything, and that was truly frightening.

"Agent Romanoff?"

Natasha turned her head towards the familiar voice and saw Agent Coulson in the hallway, eying her in a strange way. In her panic, she didn't notice him. That was sloppy and sloppy gets you killed; she needed to get a hold of herself. The spy quickly pushed herself off of the door as her hands instinctively straightened out her jumpsuit, despite being made of an unwrinkled Kevlar material. Exhaling sharply through her nose, she spoke, "Coulson, we have a problem."

Coulson's hand slid up to the sidearm inside his jacket, "What did he say to you? Is he trying to es-"

Before he could finish, Natasha cut him off, "Where's Banner?"

"Banner? He's in the conference room with Stark, but what's going-"

Natasha brushed by Coulson as she replied in the best deadpan tone she could muster, "Nobody enters or leaves that room unless Fury says otherwise." A fight was about to erupt and there was no time to reminisce about ghosts.

Coulson nodded as he watched Natasha rush down the hallway and disappear around a corner. Something was coming, and he needed to be ready. His arm pulled his weapon from its holster as his thumb triggered the magazine catch. His other hand caught the magazine and examined it closely. Full cartridge.

But he wasn't dealing with some international terrorist. He looked at his service pistol, then at the door to the cell, then back at his firearm. He sighed, frowning in thought. "Well, I sure need a bigger gun."

After a moment of contemplation, he popped the magazine back into place and walked down the hallway in the opposite direction of where Natasha ran. He knew just where to find one.

_~Entangled~_

His grand escape was not starting as grand as he imagined. Although he did launch his pathetic, mortal-loving brother from some ungodly altitude to his untimely demise, his grand vision did not include lying on the floor in extreme abdominal pain after being blasted through a wall.

Loki sneered as he propped himself up on his elbows, touching the spot where that insufferable agent blasted him. No blood, no internal damage, but it throbbed to the slightest touch. Using Asgardian technology against an Asgardian was a clever move, he had to admit, but it seemed that their new toy didn't pack quite the punch the Guardian did.

Despite the pain, he got back on his feet and walked through the hole his body made, marching towards the door. Green eyes caught a glimpse the magnificent weapon that sent him flying, now a cold piece of metal on a bloodied man's lap. He cautiously walked towards Coulson, unsure of the man's next move. The gun was still there, and there was no telling how many shots it had left. When the agent didn't lift the weapon, the Trickster's stride became more casual until he reached the mortal.

To his surprise, Coulson's chest was still heaving with labored breaths as he turned his head to face him. Although he had an opportunity to finish the agent off, especially after that humiliating blow, he didn't. No, this man needed to suffer for trying to best a god.

"What? Do you not have anything else to say to me?"

Coulson remained silent, his steely gaze boring into Loki's with an emotion he couldn't quite place. Hate? No, not hate. It wasn't quite as passionate. His eyes were somber, but they were belied with a small grin. Loki scoffed when he didn't receive an answer and proceeded to step over the dying agent, making his way to the doors that started to open before him.

"You think you'll win..." Loki stopped in the doorway; he turned to glance smugly at the man slumped against the wall. "I'm sorry that you think that way…I really am."

Loki snorted as he shook his head, "Is that supposed to be an insult?"

"No…" Even with the grin on his face, his eyes never regained their luster. "No…no, I just feel so sorry for you, that's all…"

The Asgardian's legs braced as he felt another explosion rock the ship, but he still didn't leave the room. "Go on…" Coulson's hand rose up to shoe him off before returning to the front of his shirt, his fingers tracing to bloodstain that leaked through. He gave Loki a nod before he turned to the red blotch. "I'll catch up."

Loki disappeared through the door, leaving the dying man alone with his warm smile and those gloomy eyes.

He could have easily walked out the door and go on his merry way…but he couldn't resist taking in the full scope of the chaos around him. Some sick, deviant sense of joy rose inside of him, dulling the pain in his side a little. They certainly weren't going to leave without him, so he had some time. Time to admire his work.

As he retraced the steps he took with his armored guard entourage, he worked his way through the maze of passageways to the deck by memory. He couldn't help but snicker as he casually wandered down the corridor, ignoring the echoes of agents scrambling away from damaged parts of the Helicarrier and distant explosions that rocked the ship like waves beating against a ship.

He rounded a corner and came across something he didn't remember in his previous trip: a brand-new doorway bashed through the wall. The Trickster laughed to himself as he sauntered down the newly-constructed hallway. As his mischievous eyes gazed at the array of broken pipes and metal beams strewn about, he could see the invisible signature of its maker. _It seems that Fury should have used my cell for the real beast here_. Snapped electrical wires sparked as they hung from the ceiling as open pipes shot steam down the pathway of destruction, making it somewhat hard to see. But even in the carnage, something caught Loki's eye in a way that nothing else in the room did. A small hint of color…

He squinted at a lone red string as it billowed a few feet away from him. Curiously, he stepped toward it, wondering how something so delicate and fragile could survive where steel could not. It billowed, alone, barely hanging on to the remains of what seemed to be a support beam for the room. He kicked a live wire to the side before kneeling down for a closer look.

Why, it wasn't a string at all; it was hair. A clump of vibrant, red hair.

The lock was almost an immaculate curl, clinging to a jagged piece of metal for dear life. His fingers reached out and brushed it with delicate touch as he plucked it from its perch. The curl gave no resistance to his tug, even though the damage on one of the ends indicated that it was violently ripped out in a desperate escape.

He gazed at the tress in his palm as his mind wondered. It couldn't be…it was too perfect and the chances were astronomical. But the strand _felt_ like her in a way he couldn't explain. He brought the palm to his nose and inhaled. Sulfur masked by some sweet, flowery perfume…just the scent he paired with those scared green eyes back in his cell.

Astronomical, indeed.

He exhaled with a throaty moan that erupted into a deeper chuckle; even he had to admit, for a woman below him in birth and race, she had quite an elegant and captivating smell about her. He gingerly plucked the curl and wrapped it around his left wrist before tucking it firmly under his sleeve. Something so vital needed to be kept very close to him. He tightened the leather strap holding his sleeve in place for good measure.

Another explosion rocked the ship again, this one more noticeable than the last, reminding him that his current goal was to escape. He hurried out of the hallway in the direction of the last place he saw an exit, near the room where he first saw his newest project.

If he recalled what that text told him, she is about to become a very interesting part of him. He walked out of the room, his prize in hand, following the scent of carnations laced with gunpowder.

* * *

**Author's Note**: Hey everyone. It's been a crazy month for me: finals, extra work shifts, a concert, and even a road trip to Modesto. Not only have I been busy, but I've been moved by the major wave of alerts. And for just a prologue! I apologize for the wait, but the wave of support has inspired me to give you crazy people a wicked good story. If it's any condolence, I spent the time before this update reading up on Marvel lore and tightening up this tale's mechanics, because I don't want to disappoint. Now I have more time to write during the rest of my summer break and this story is not going to be short. Thank you for both your support and your warm words, and I'd love to hear your feedback. Cheers! ~Madcap


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